


Solomon's Song

by Buggirl



Series: Ciara and Thom [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sustain me with flagons; refresh me with apples, for I am sick of love.  </p><p>Ciara Adaar confronts Thom Rainier about a past event. (Follows on from The Best Apples are at the tallest part of the tree).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Noseforahtwo on tumblr for the first three chapters beta'ing and for Thievinghippo for chapter four beta.

“Thom Rainier winner of the Grand Tourney,” Ciara Adaar said. Her voice loud, crisp and clear.

The man previously known as warden Blackwall turned in time to catch the apple that she had aimed at his head.

“My Lady I--”

“You told me that story when we first arrived at Skyhold. How you and the Chevalier held off all comers, and you became Champion.” She folded her arms across her chest and leant against one of the barns wooden pillars.

Thom’s chin lifted, his posture straightened. “I did, yes.”

“Except you were Thom Rainier, not Blackwall. Somebody might have figured you out. I may have figured it out if I wasn’t.” She hesitated before continuing. “Tell me, what year did you become Champion?”

He coughed nervously, “The year was — a while ago.”

“U-huh.” She held out her hand.

He placed the apple gently in her palm. “I didn’t lie about that.”

“I know you didn’t,” she said before taking a large bite.

He stared at her and shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Not knowing her thoughts would be the death of him. Even though they had reconciled after judgment since then she had tiptoed, no, avoided him, for weeks. They had kissed only once, in her apartments, two weeks after judgment, where she had cried and held his hand so tight that it later formed a bruise.

All in Skyhold noticed no special favours for him, and that she held him at arm’s length. She had not taken him with her in the field and had barely spoken with him when in Skyhold. There had been no intimacy since he left her cold and alone in the Barn, determined to meet the hangman’s noose in Val Royeaux. Perhaps she hadn’t forgiven him, perhaps she changed her mind, and he’d be headed to the wardens sooner rather than later. He missed her, everything about her, from the tilt of her head to her gentle scent.

“Don’t appear so alarmed. I just need to ask you something.” She tilted her head and grinned. However, her eyes weren’t smiling.

“Anything you ask, I shall answer, my Lady,” he said.

She pushed herself off the pillar and walked around him. “When did you stop thinking of us as savages? Beasts needing tamed under a Master?”

“My Lady--” His brow furrowed in confusion. He caught the droop in her shoulders, and shine of tears in her eyes as she passed him. “I don’t understand--”

She stopped circling and stood directly in front of him. “When did you stop thinking of us — of me — as something other than a savage beast, or do you still believe that?”

This only served to confuse him further. He glanced up and squirmed under the ferocity of her gaze and it hit him, who she was, who he was to her and what he had said to her so long ago when she was only a child and he, Thom the prick, Thom the arrogant arse. He cast his eyes down, his cheeks reddening. “I stopped before the world turned on its head. That’s when. After the tourney, I worked as a mercenary. They enlightened me and I grew to realise that they were not much different from me.”

“They? You mean other qunari?”

“Tal Vashoth and Vashoth, yes. The best people, several of the best fighters in Ferelden.”

Ciara sighed. “It hadn’t crossed my mind that there had been other qunari. And me?”

“My lady, you are no longer a child throwing apple cores at my head. What I said to you then I can’t forgive or forget the views of a younger Thom Rainier. I’m partial to the idea I’m less narrow in my thinking now. I spent a long time staring into the bottom of empty tankards. Searching for something that wasn’t there.”

“What were you searching for Thom? In the bottom of that tankard?” The way his name spilled across her lips felt akin to a backhand to his face. Harsh, without the softness he knew when she whispered ‘Blackwall’.

“Honour, dignity, maybe. Forgiveness, definitely.” He shrugged. “When I joined the army I played the game the right way, so I thought. What I learned, there’s no right way. And there’s nothing worthy at the bottom of a tankard, nothing virtuous anyways.”

“If you scrutinised closely enough, you could have found regret. I’m sure that’s worthy,” she said still with a chill in her voice with which he was unaccustomed.

He nodded and gave her a weak smile. “Yes, there’s that.”

Her tone softened. “You said you loved me, Thom. That you were a man with his heart laid bare. Did you ever believe, that I, a mere beast, wasn’t worthy of you?”

He sighed and took a step towards her. “My lady–”

She put her hand up, “Stop. Stop calling me that. My name’s Ciara as much as your name is Thom.”

“Alright.” His eyes flickered down. “My heart is still yours, Ciara. I never thought of you that way, maybe when you were a child and I a fool, I said harsh and hurtful words to you. Recognise now, since we met — as adult to adult — I only ever thought of you as a leader to follow, or a woman to love.” He rubbed his hands together nervously. “However, if you wish me gone to the wardens, I’ll depart now. I remain yours to command. I will always be yours to command.”

Ciara sighed and dug her heel into the floor. “No, No. I don’t wish that.” She scanned his face and took a deep breath. “My apartment, after supper and final Chantry mass in the evening.” She thumped a fist on the pillar. “Don’t be late, Thom Rainier.”


	2. Chapter 2

Thom stepped tentatively through the Great Hall and towards the door of Ciara’s apartments. Varric, seated by the fire, glanced up from a manuscript and caught his eye. “Hero,” he said.

Thom nodded, an unconvincing smile passed over his lips.

The door creaked as it opened, but he managed to shut it without further noise. At the top of the stairs, Ciara was waiting. She was barefoot and dressed in a nightgown that would, on anyone else, go down to their knees, on Ciara its hem was well above mid-thigh and sheer enough that through the flimsy material he could gather her shape. Breasts full and hips round, like an hourglass. How much time did he have left? He wished he could turn it before the sand drained too quickly from one chamber to another. He’d give anything to start over, to slow time with her or stop it completely so he’d never have to leave her side.

His heart beat louder the longer he stared at her. He desired to cup her full cheeks in her hands, and kiss her in all places. Did she crave it too? Nothing she said since he last stood here and watched her weep, confirmed or denied their relationship and he could not read it in her face or manners. Not even her standing here in a wisp of material told him anything other than she would soon head for bed, and likely without him.

There’s no formality, no hello or smiles from her and despite her state of undress, for she’s definitely naked under that nightgown, she still had the presence of a daunting commander. He inhaled deeply, he could smell her too, a hint of floral and spice, was that cinnamon? He desperately needed to trace his hands up the long curve of her legs, feel the smoothness of the skin of her thighs under his palms, to bury his head between her cleavage and the valley between her legs. He wished for her hands on him too. Tracing ragged battle worn fingernails along his should blades, and feel them dig into his flesh. He yearned for those hands to be massaging his face through his beard, moving down to twirl and tweak the hair on his chest, to follow the trail of hair on his belly and feel his muscles contract at her touch. For her to grip his length tight and run a fingertip along that little bare patch of skin underneath.

Her hair, usually in a long braid down her back was loose. She brushed a stray hair from her upper lip, “You’ve spent a long tying yourself in knots concerning events you cannot alter, Thom. You were responsible for the death of innocents. It weighs heavily on your conscience and with a desire to escape you lied about who you are.” She sighed heavily. “You called me a savage once, a beast not fit for the Grand Tourney, only fit to be a slave, in your eyes anyway.”

“I don’t believe that--”

“Shush.” She laid a finger across her lips. “I’m talking now, listen,” she said. 

Her voice commanding, punitive even, but underneath he could hear a hint of softness, and memories of her whispering into his ear sent a flicker to his stomach, the recollection of her breath on his neck, ragged and hoarse after lovemaking, made the hairs on his neck stand erect.

He nodded and stood still as she walked around the room, running her hands over the backs of chairs, the desk, the mantle over the fireplace, the bed. Her nightgown fluttered as she passed the open balcony doors and he was favoured with a glimpse of the top of her thighs, muscular and enticing. He took another deep breath.

Ciara rested both hands on the edge of the fireplace mantle her head tilted towards him. “So tell me, who are you? Which version of Thom are you? The arrogant arsehole Grand Tourney winner telling a young girl she’ll never amount to anything other than to be a serviced hand. A brutal weapon only to be wielded by a human Master? One he could easily best? Are you young, arrogant Thom, ‘Thom the prick’, fucking everything within reach? Or are you Captain Thom Rainier the prick, drinking tea and Antivan brandy with fancy Orlesian lords in their expensive Chateaus and afterward fucking their bored wives behind closed doors at the Empress’s court?” Her voice wavered between hurt and harshness.

“I am--”

Ciara laid a finger across her lips again and shook her head. “I’m speaking rhetorically, remember.” 

She walked over to him and circled him as she continued to speak, but unlike earlier, it had a predatory quality. “Maybe you’re sorrowful Thom. Lost in his drink and gawping at the dregs of his tankard hoping for his salvation? Would you still have a desire and a burning need to fuck any woman that crossed your path, I wonder? Or are you Blackwall, finding comfort in callouses on your hand or in the bed of a serving woman at a tavern in the woods?” She licked her lips and sighed. “You could be anyone of these Thom’s or Blackwall’s, I wouldn’t know.”

She stopped behind him and whispered into his ear, “Who are you?”

“I am but--”

She interrupted his speech. “A man with his heart laid bare. Yes, yes. Now, remove that damn gambeson.”

The tone ensured that it wasn’t a request, a command from the leader of the Inquisition. He gave an audible gulp before he slowly untied the loops holding it closed. Underneath he wore a loose tunic top. He walked to the side of the room, placed the gambeson over a chair and began to walk back.

She put up a hand. “Your boots and belt as well and come back here.”

He hesitated, open mouthed, before he placed his boots and stockings neatly at the foot of the couch. His belt, he draped over his Gambeson before he marched dutifully back to her.  
Was this to be a punishment of a different type? One where he would be on bended knee, one where he would not be in charge. Whatever it was, he’d be hers to command.

Ciara ran a finger along the back of his neck. “My Inquisition, my rules.” She placed her face in front of his. “If you don’t desire this, all you need say is ‘apple core’ and we can part ways. I’ll retire to bed and you can return to the stables.”

He bowed his head and remained silent.


	3. Chapter 3

Thom might have been in the midst of punishment, but anything that involved being this close to her felt exquisite in implementation, as a reward compared to what it could have been. Lovelier than the possibility of cold rope burning the flesh of his neck, ripping the hairs from their roots as he falls through the trap door to his death. 

From behind, Ciara’s hands ran over his shoulders. One hand slipped beneath the opening of his tunic top and he felt the rough callous of her fingertips run along the skin either side of his scars. He took a long, deep breath and Ciara responded by laughing in his ear.

“You like that?” she asked. Her voice a hoarse whisper that made him close his eyes and wish for more.

He nodded his head wordlessly and shivered at the feel of her breath on his ear. She was close enough he could feel her press against him. Only the material of his tunic and her thin nightgown prevented skin on skin. A twitch in his breeches made him suck in his breath. She brushed her lips on along the tip of his ear before withdrawing her hands, her lips and breath. Their retreat made his shoulders slump and a heavy sigh escape his mouth.

She laughed again.

Maker, her laugh. So close to gold, something once coveted, something once desired, something that brought only hubris. However, this was not gold -- it was more than that. This would be coveted for how freely it was given, desired for how much it made him feel comfortable in his own skin. There was no conceit to be gained from her laugh.

He remained, aware that she moved behind him without a sound.

“Turn around, Thom Rainier.”

She stood at the side of the large ornate bed. Of Orlesian design. He detested it, but she had insisted on buying it from the vendor in Val Royeuax. “It fits my height,” she had said. This bed was one where she could be comfortable, where they could lounge together without falling out either side as they rolled around. It taunted him with its gaudiness; the only alluring detail about it was the person who lay in its impossible softness. She remained clothed and beckoned him closer before holding her hand up to halt his approach. She remained just out of reach. 

“Take off your shirt,” she said. 

He did. Without hesitation.

“That’s better.” She smiled.

He hadn’t noticed, he’d been too taken with her dress -- or lack of -- and her voice, but she held an apple in her hand. She took a bite. Then another. The sound of the fruit’s crispness could be heard with each mouthful. Her mouth caressed its red skin, her teeth sinking into its crunchy, juicy flesh. Juice dribbled down her face. He followed her hand as she bought a finger up to wipe the liquid from her chin, bringing it to her mouth where she sucked it, letting the digit linger on her lips before bringing the apple up to take another bite. Her amber eyes blazed brighter than the colour of the fruit that graced her lips. He swallowed hard.

Once all the flesh was torn from the fruit, she threw it over his head. He didn’t flinch. He was too transfixed on the sensuousness of her mouth as she laughed. 

Ciara bounced backward onto the bed, turned to her side and faced him, one hand supported her head, and the other lay over her hip. He waited patiently in hope that she would pat the space beside her, an invitation to join her on the flamboyant bunk. The offer was not forthcoming.

She curled her lip on one side, making a half-hearted, mean looking smile. “Did you always get what you wanted, Thom?” She asked as she rubbed her hand at the base of her horns, something he noticed her doing when she had a decision to make.

He shook his head. “I did, once, a long time ago strive to make it so. However, that was a young foolish Thom. Thom who thought the needs of others didn’t count, or they weren’t deserved.”

She nodded and stretched her head back. He watched as her free hand moved from her horns and rubbed the skin of her long neck, before she trailed it along the side of her face. She slipped a pinkie into her mouth before bringing her hand back down to her side. 

He watched her hand sneak under her nightgown, and it was at that moment every breath he took rushed out of his body. Her legs parted, but she remained on her side, her top leg moved to form a triangle with the other. His eyes widened and that half-hearted smile of hers widened at his response. Maker, she was going to pleasure herself and make him watch. Involuntarily, he moved his hand to his waistband.

She frowned and shook her head. “uh uh. No touching, only watching.”

He swallowed hard again, but this time it caught in the back of his throat and he coughed. When he recovered, the smile on her face had not waned and her hand had begun her ministrations. He couldn’t see in detail what was happening, but he could guess her progression was fast -- given the flashes of pleasure that crossed her face. 

His eyes flickered between hers, the enticing flesh at the collar of her nightgown and the movement of her hand underneath the diaphanous veil of material. His breeches were pulled tight against his erection, it hadn’t taken him long to get this hard. He wanted to run a hand along her leg, to grip her thigh. The other hand,ached to cup her breast, tweak the nipple firmly and feel her squirm underneath his touch. He wanted his lips on hers, to taste the juice of that apple as his tongue touched hers.

She moved and lay on her back, her face still turned to his, the material of her gown rode up so he could glimpse her stomach and see her hand move tirelessly, but the position of her legs meant he could see little else. Her other hand moved inside the nightgown and gripped her breast then moved to her face. Her focus was now not entirely on him, but on her own pleasure, her eyelids opened and closed as he watched her shiver and shake. She let out small, low moans and he could hear shallow and rapid breaths. 

He might burst if she dared touch him now.

It had felt like a lifetime since he last touched her and the room began to spin, comparable to when he had frequently spent an evening considering the bottom of a tankard. His body began to tingle, his balls ached, and he didn’t want to blink for fear she might come without his eyes fixed on her. No matter the distractions his body offered him, she had his undivided attention, a punishment through unattainable pleasure.

Her eyes were closed now as she arched her back into her hand, her other hand caressed her thigh and she moaned, sighed and whimpered ‘yes’ repeatedly. This lasted a long time, during which time his erection never diminished, and his attention never diverted.

In her last breaths, she opened her eyes and stared at him. A short prayer to the Maker passed his lips as she reached her climax, her moan ending in a silently mouthed ‘yes’.

He felt as though he might stagger and fall, but righted himself before he could. He watched her legs straighten, and she smoothed her nightgown over her thighs. He wanted to kiss her now more than any time before; he wanted to hold her, tell her he loved her and lay his head in her lap. He wanted her hands on his beard with gentle tugs, and her lips on his forehead as she bends to kiss him.

Ciara swung her legs to the side of the bed and swayed as she stood. She walked calmly over to him, her cheeks pink against the grey tone of her skin. Sweat beaded and formed a thin film of sweat on her brow and upper lip. Her hand grabbed his beard and tugged. She bent to kiss him. He could smell her arousal wafting up from her hand on his beard, and taste the salt from her sweat mingled with sweet apple flavour as their tongues briefly touched.

He motioned to hold her, but she broke from the kiss and backed away . His eyes widened and his brow furrowed. 

“You can get dressed and go now, Thom. We’ll speak tomorrow.” She turned her back to him and went back to the bed. She turned the covers down, and he was offered a tantalising last glimpse of her thighs as she slid between the sheets. She adjusted the way her head lay so he could only see her horns. 

He stood there a few moments, it took several breaths to realise she had dismissed him for the evening. He sniffed loudly, scratched his jaw and snorted back an incredulous laugh. He recovered his shirt and put it on as fast as he could. He sat on the couch to put on his boots and stood to place on his belt, draped his gambeson over his arm and took one last hopeful glance in her direction. 

Ciara stretched her arms over her head, grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it up tight around her. 

Thom’s shoulders slumped and his chest tightened. He tiptoed down the stairs.

As he walked through the great hall his cheeks burnt red under his beard, his breeches constricted his fading erection. However, he no longer cared who saw.

He marched across the courtyard and down the stairs to the stable. He knew tonight he’d scare the mounts with the noises he’d make during his own ministrations. He passed an apple tree in the courtyard, stopped, glanced at the ripe red fruit and chuckled to himself. Underneath he hoped that the fruit was not tart, that it would not disappoint, that it be as sweet and lovely he knew his Ciara to be. He was no longer sure.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been at least 3 weeks since the night Ciara first invited him up to her apartments and _made him watch_. Since then, he’d accompanied her twice in the field, once with Dorian and Sera to the Western Approach, and then with Solas and Cole to the Emerald Graves. However, there was no repeat of that level of intimacy and he found he missed it more in three weeks than he had spending years in the wilderness. Instead, at night in the cold desert and the rainy forest, he’d shared a tent with Dorian and then Solas.

In the field, they were jovial in company and silent when alone. Despite the possibility that such a scenario might play on doubts about whether they had truly reconciled, he was relaxed, the most he’d been since his return to Skyhold. He was not the type to fret -- Ciara had made her feelings known, so for now at least the fact she had him accompany her, even if only to be a second warrior to hers, was enough.

On the return to Skyhold, he waited patiently for another summons: a beer in the tavern with Sera and Bull, a game of cards with Solas, a conversation (and a reconciliation of sorts) with Cassandra on the state of the inquisition soldiers, put him at ease for a few days until the invitation came.  
“The Inquisitor requests your presence after evening Chantry services, War…” The young man scratched his head as he relayed the message.

He sighed, “Call me Thom, lad.” The messenger nodded before scampering away.  
It seemed Thom was to be his honorific, for some, others were content to call him Blackwall, even if they did with a scowl. Blackwall was armour, protecting him from the truth, Thom felt like an ill fit, but it was flexible. He would dust it off, give it a once over and it might even be suitable for wearing in polite company.

In his mind, he expected a repeat of what happened three weeks prior, it made his gut churn with nervous energy, one that pushed his appetite for dinner to the side. He’d have time to wash, and reluctantly gave in to Dorian’s insistence that if he were to return to the Inquisitors side he not smell like a barn. He hoped that the cedar wood soap wouldn’t drown out Ciara’s own scent, the memory of floral and cinnamon was all he had for the moment.

He arrived promptly after late Chantry services and once again, greeted by her wearing the same nightgown from before. White and long sleeved with buttons from the collar down to just below her breasts. He could see the swell of her bottom peaking below the hem as she bent forward over the fireplace and prodded the flames with a large iron poker. His mouth went dry and he bit down on a smile that began to form at the corners of his mouth. She glanced towards him and nodded to the couch nearby.

“You can remove your shoes and gambeson over there, Thom.” There was lightness in her voice but it still commanded him, regardless of whether she held an axe or iron poker. 

He watched her keenly as he removed all but his pants and undershirt. Her hair was loose, and he could see her figure outlined underneath the flimsy nightgown, flames seemed to dance and make shadows against her. Maker, he hoped – prayed even, for at least a kiss like before. He prayed harder still that he wouldn’t send her away.

He was about to walk over to her when she pointed to him, “And your shirt too.”

He diligently removed it before padding over to her side. She placed the poker back in its stand and turned to face him. Without further word, she leaned in and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and the smell of her freshly washed hair cascading over her shoulders made his nostrils flare. The scent, fresh and familiar. Whatever had passed between them of late had only been one of memories, one where he couldn’t touch her, where he called out her name as he tended to his own needs. Here it was, a memory refreshed as their bodies almost near naked came together. His hands played at the hem of her nightgown, hers rubbed his bare shoulders and made his skin tingle. Three weeks, and he felt like he’d melt under her touch, as if he was sixteen again and fumbling for the first time in the neighbours hayloft.

His stomach growled.

Ciara leaned back and smirked. “Did you not eat supper, Thom?”

He laughed, “It was a choice between eating or bathing. Call it presumptuous of me.”

“Very.” She sauntered over to the corner study. Her hips appeared to have an exaggerated swing but Thom wasn’t sure if it was just the light of the fire playing tricks on him. When she returned, she carried an apple. 

She held it out to him in the palm of her hand. 

He smiled. “I am sensing a pattern here, my Lady.”

“Call it symbolic.” She fluttered her eyelashes, the glare from the fire glinting in her amber eyes. “Maybe of where we came from. Where we’re going.”

He took the apple and bit into it heartily, juice dripped on to his beard from the sweet, crisp flesh. “And where are we going, my Lady?” He made the question sound as flippant as possible, but his chest tightened as he spoke and his mind started racing with thoughts of everything that could go wrong from this moment on.

She grabbed the apple from his hand took a few bites, placed the remnants on the mantle and led him wordlessly towards the bed.

“Well, I--” he managed to stutter.

Ciara placed her finger on his lips and then to her own. Thom watched mouth slightly agape as she licked the juice from her fingers.

He stood with his knees against the soft edge of the bed. Ciara threw the plump Orlesian pillows to the side and kneeled on the bed facing him. He still had to crane his neck to look at her face. She ran her hand down his torso to the waistband of his pants, tugging at the fastenings until they came loose. He felt his cock twitch and move when the ties of his trousers slackened. 

She let go of the drawstring and grabbed his hand. “I have missed you,” she said as her hands trembled in his. There was a tone of subdued excitement in her voice. “You smell nice, and as it turns out, your presumptions were correct.”

He felt his muscles relax as he reached out and ran his hand down the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her warm cheek. “I am glad you like it.”

“It smells like you’ve been chopping wood.”

He laughed and watched as she undid the buttons on the nightgown until he could see the depth of her cleavage. She lay down on her side and this time, she patted the space beside her.

They lay face to face, eyes locked on one another. His hand ran over the material at the undulation of her hips, and then moved it over the front of her nightgown. He resisted the urge to sneak his hand inside and instead gently squeezed her breast through the light fabric. Ciara heaved a sigh, ran her fingers over his lips, and then tugged on his beard.

“What shall we do now, Thom?”

“Perhaps I might ask--” His hand snaked up under her gown and up the side of her body to the swell of her breast then back down, her skin warm and silky to the touch. He grinned as he watched her shiver. “Those nights away, did you think of me? Lying there in your bedroll all alone?”

She nodded as her hand snuck down and inside his pants; a tight space became tighter as he responded to her strokes. He emitted a throaty hum of approval as warmth from her touch spread through his body.

“And when you invited me here last time, when you--” This time his hand moved between her legs, which parted in response to a squeeze of her inner thigh. “When you pleasured yourself, did you think of me?”

Her cheeks flushed pink against the grey tone of her skin and she nodded again. 

His fingers found the folds of her sex, wet with muted desire and he ran his finger along the moist slit. He watched her close her eyes and listened to her breath catch when his coarse digit found her clit and began to circle slow and deliberate. She withdrew her hand from his pants, but he didn’t mind, there was plenty of time to play.

“Tell me then, lovely, what specifically were you thinking about me? Mmm?”

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She gulped and bit her lip. “First, do you think I can answer that with your hand where it is?”

He laughed, and withdrew his hand but kept it on her inner thigh. “Tell me then,” he said.

She pouted in response and tugged on his beard. “I thought of how you insisted it was your duty to chop the wood for the campfire that first time in the Hissing Wastes. How you declared that it would be more efficient, your voice was commanding but persuasive. I knew the real reason you offered was you’d been watching that scout butcher the log into splinters for half an hour and couldn’t bear to watch any longer.”

“So my voice then?”

“That and the way you spoke. Yes.” 

“And what else, lovely?” He let the fingers from his other hand trace the open part of her shirt between the soft mounds of her breasts.

“How you came to me that night - in the middle of the night and whispered all the things you wanted to do to me when we were back in Skyhold. How I wouldn’t let you leave, and--” She shivered as he traced a finger over a nipple. “h--how I said I wanted you to stay and that I promised to be quiet. Not let the others hear.”

He removed his hand from her thigh before sliding out of his pants unskilfully and tossing them off the bed.

Ciara reached down and gripped his erection with a firm hand and pumped slowly.

He made a soft grunting noise and pulled the collar of her nightgown back to expose more of her neck. He slid the hem of her gown up and over her hips to reveal her stomach. He leant in, kissed her neck, and was rewarded with a quiet moan as she pressed against him, her hand still firmly on his cock. Moving his hand between her thighs, he snuck his finger to circle her clit, discovering she was even wetter now than before.

Her breathing laboured but she continued relating her thoughts, “Then when you left without touching me--” She made a quiet whimpering noise before continuing. “Be-- because we could hear Sera sniggering -- I thought about how you smelled. Like dirt and sweat and that freshly chopped wood.” She moaned as he slid one digit inside, followed by a second, letting his thumb take over stimulating her clit. 

“So Dorian did pick this scent well then.” He quickened the pace of his fingers.

She let go of him again and pawed at his chest with both hands, “He-- he-- did yes. Oh yes, there, there.” She moaned and tossed her head, her unbound hair falling across her face.

He moderated his own building desire and focused his questions. “What about last week, in the desert and forest, did you think of me lying alone only several feet away?”

“Yes -- yes I did. And I wanted you, but--” She leaned her forehead against his. “But it wasn’t-- the right time for me. I needed some--” She moved her head back and opened her eyes, her gaze heavy lidded “I needed some space to-- to think. About us.”

Thom swallowed hard. He knew the chances of Ciara and he being an ‘us’ were low, the thought made him still his ministrations. He withdrew his fingers and grabbed her hand. “Ciara--”

Her breathing slowed and she squeezed his hand tight. “I made you watch me because I wanted to challenge how I felt about letting you back into my bed, about everything I ever felt about you. After, it all came crashing down around me. I want you here, Thom.” She assured him. “I made that choice the moment I judged you. If it felt like I was playing a game with you, and I have never been one to do that. I’m sorry.”

He could see her eyes become glassy with tears and he shook his head and whispered, “Shush, I know. There is no need for you to be sorry. You needed distance, from me and that, my love, is something I will always be fine with.” He kissed her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. “Do you want to stop? We can-- do this another time,” he asked.

Ciara moved her hand down to his. She squeezed his wrist and shook her head no.

He kissed her then, hard, eager to press his lips on her, his fingers once more inside her she moaned against his mouth. One hand grabbed his shoulder the other scratched his neck at the base of his hairline. He removed his fingers and gently pushed her onto her back making sure there were enough pillows to accommodate her head and her horns. The gaze they shared remained unbroken even as his hands spread her thighs and he placed himself between her legs. The familiar slickness as he entered her made him feel like a parched man drinking at a fountain. He stroked her thighs and sensed her feet lock into place behind him as she placed her legs around his torso, the firm grip providing a comforting hold. 

He kept himself upright with knuckles pressed into the softness of the bed as she raked her fingernails down to his stomach and back up. He slowed his pace as he leaned over, their bellies finally touched as he leaned forward shuffling aside the material of her nightgown with his nose to lay kisses on each breast. Ciara’s hands stroked his head, her fingers entwined in the loose bun he had tied behind his head. He propped himself back up on his palms this time, and re-engaged their shared gaze. They never closed their eyes on one another, even as she arched her back into his thrusts and cried out for more.

When she came, she reached up and stroked his beard, traced her finger across his lips and moaned his name. 

He gave her fingers a cursory kiss not wanting to lose sight of her face as it crumpled beneath her orgasm. She gripped his wrists and cried ‘Thom’ several times over and for the first time his name felt like a blessing, a benediction and renewal of himself. He felt her muscles convulse around his cock, and her gaze became unfocused as he held it to drink in her pleasure. He continued past her climax, his thrusts became faster and more forceful, his breathing more strained. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose to between the material of her opened nightgown and onto the smooth skin of her cleavage. He could feel the heat of the fire from across the room. He wouldn’t last long at this rate.

Before the coil of tightness hit his groin, he saw quietness in her gaze, not like before, not like being still after being lost to her own pleasure. This was serenity and a calmness that struck at his heart. He could see her laid bare before him, and for all the times he thought as a young man that qunari were savages, or no better than beasts of burden filled with rage and dragon’s blood, here was compassion, strength and love. Her forgiveness tied up in the softness of her eyes, the gentle caress of her hand, the tilt of her head and the hint of a smile. 

He came with a loud series of grunts his arms buckled underneath as he collapsed involuntarily on top of her. He mumbled her name into her shoulder and kissed her collarbone. When they broke apart he made to roll off her, but her legs remained as an iron grip on his torso. 

“Not yet. Stay a little longer,” she pleaded.

His gaze locked steadfast to hers. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here forever if my Lady wish it.”

She lifted her head to his and they kissed, long and slow. 

His stomach growled and she laughed into his mouth as his hunger pangs reverberated through her.

She let go the grip of her legs on his torso and as he slipped out of her, sticky and sweaty, his stomach growled with hunger again. 

Ciara laughed, “I have more apples if you’re hungry.”

“I think I might need something more substantial than apples. But I have you, the apple of my eye.”

Ciara snorted this time. “That’s one smooth line you have, Thom.” She tugged at his beard again. “I’m the one still half dressed; let me go sort something out for you.” She pulled the nightgown currently revealing a breast back over her shoulder and shuffled off the bed. 

He watched her head to the stairwell, disappear, and then quickly return.

“Cook is out for the night, but the kitchen staff are still preparing for tomorrow’s visit from Fereldan nobles. They are known for their appetites so there’s sure to be something hearty in the mix.” She had the same saunter from before when he thought his eyes were deceiving him.

He smiled. “Good.” He had turned down the covers and it was his turn to pat the bed beside him. 

She removed her nightgown this time and slid naked between crisp sheets and warm blankets. They held hands lying down.

He watched as her eyes danced about his face, “What are you searching for, Ciara?”

She shook her head. “Nothing and everything.”

“I can give the first to you in spades. The second? I’ll try my damn hardest to make sure you find it,” he said.

“Oh, there it is.” She kissed him, tenderly, open mouthed and with the taste of apple on her lips.


End file.
